


equal and opposite reactions

by lostinthefire



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, multiplicity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-03
Updated: 2011-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinthefire/pseuds/lostinthefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets stimulus overload and needs a little help getting through the day.  John is not entirely sure what to make of what happens next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	equal and opposite reactions

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kinkmeme. This has been betaed but not Britpicked and I'm sorry if I've mucked anything up. I will also add that I hope this is a decent portrayal of multiplicity. I tried m7y best to depict it in a respectful light and if I've offended you in any way, I'm very sorry and it was not my intention.

He could tell it was going to be a hard day as soon as he woke up.. It's the kind of day where everything is harsh, where the lights burn too brightly, where every minute detail stands out and it all bombards him at every turn.

But he also knows Sherlock; knew that he would push through it or, at the very least, try to.

Instead of passing judgment, he chose to look at it as charming stubbornness. It's better than starting an argument; that would only be more stimulation, and the world around them is already providing an overabundance of that as it is.

They got through about half the day, which is better than he expected for a day like this. Of course, he doesn't say that -- he doesn't say much of anything really, just the odd comment here and there, and offers of comfort when he could. He even volunteered to take the front, to be the one to handle the world for a while, so Sherlock could rest, but he was denied.

Which he expected. He knew how this worked; he would just have to wait it out.

And eventually it does happen, the crash, just as he knew it would.

They're headed back from Bart's with a hand they managed to procure . He'd settled in a corner and tried his best to be as calm and still as he possibly could for the other, but the stimulation of the street, the people and the noise and the lights, has become too much.

They stumble, then move so that they can use the wall of a building as support. He watches as Sherlock tries to fight the overwhelming sense of everything coming at him at once, and he moves, shares the front just enough so that he can keep the body from crumpling in on itself.

"William," Sherlock starts, but he shakes his head.

"Just go," he urges quietly. "I'll get us back. Just go."

He didn't fight after that only because he knew that they wouldn't get back to Baker Street otherwise, knew that the world was liable to make him lose consciousness and this was safer.

And he knew that William can be trusted.

And that's how he winds up walking back to Baker Street by himself, Sherlock curled up far from the front, where no outside stimulation can get to him. It's strange to be doing it, to take this familiar route on his own, but he knows that it's better for the both of them that he is.

Of course, he's going to have to decide what to do about the good Doctor Watson, but that problem can be tackled after a cup of tea.

\---------------

He does manage to get back and is relieved to find the flat empty upon his arrival. It's not that he's going to be unwelcoming to Watson -- he's been so good to Sherlock and William can't help but have respect for anyone who's willing to put up with him -- but he's more than happy to have a little time to himself before this whole thing begins.

Placing the hand in the fridge, he starts to make tea. There's a soothing familiarity to it that lets him relax the rest of the way, and by the time he's settled on the sofa, coat and shoes abandoned, he's able to look at the situation with a calm that he had only been putting on for show before.

He should call Mycroft, let him know that he's here. After all, he's not sure how long he'll be around this time and it's only fair. At that thought, he considers getting up and changing, slipping into the clothes that he prefers, but decides against it for now. He can get comfortable after he's talked to Watson -- he really ought to be thinking of the man as John -- and everyone is on the same page.

Mycroft, he reminds himself, before his mind starts going off on tangents. He should dial Mycroft.

Grabbing the coat, he digs around in the pockets until he locates the mobile, dialing the number with a quickness that comes with familiarity and a lack of dependency on the contacts feature. Although it's been a while since something like this has happened, it's far from his first.

The man answers on the third ring and he doesn't wait for him to speak. "Mycroft, how are you?"

"William?"

He grins. "Indeed it is."

There's rustling, probably the movement of some important treaty or some such thing, not that it made much difference to him, before Mycroft speaks. "And what has happened to my brother this time?"

"Stimulus overload," he answers with a small shrug. "It'd been building up for most of the day but it struck him as we were headed back from Bart's."

"You've made it back then?" There's the slightest note of concern, so small that he doubts most people would have picked up on it, but he's known this man since he was a teenager.

"I'm fine," he assures. "A little worried about what I'm going to do when John Watson gets back, but that's about it."

"Ah, John, he's a good man. Though I do expect this will probably be a bit out of his depth."

He snorts. "You think?"

"Does that mean you've not come up with any sort of way to approach this?"

"Not in the slightest," he informs cheerfully. "We'd meant to talk to him when something came up. It just... never came up until today. Sherlock was supposed to explain it to him, we thought he'd take it better if he'd heard it from him, but I suppose that's changing now."

He can practically hear the arched brow when Mycroft replies. "So he's far enough that you can't contact him?"

"It was a bad overload," he explains. "If he'd gone in at the beginning of the day he might not have to be so far gone, but he was being stubborn about it."

"As is to be expected."

"Yeah, well, it does make this whole thing much less simple."

"You'll manage."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence. I'd be much happier if I didn't need it, but I appreciate it all the same."

"Would you prefer if I come by before John comes back? I couldn't stay for long, but I could be there when you tell him."

There's a moment where he seriously considers taking him up on the offer, but in the end he declines. "No, I should be fine. If things get out of hand, I'll call you."

"All right."

"You know, you never did say how you were."

"I'm fine, William. Go prepare for your talk with John."

He laughs. "Yes, sir. I'll get right on it."

There's a hint of amusement in Mycroft's tone. "Goodbye, William."

"See you later, then."

And with that, he disconnects, slumping back into the sofa and closing his eyes. He really ought to come up with some kind of a plan, a way to structure to the conversation.

It's a shame that 'Hello, I'm the fellow who shares the body with your friend/flatmate/son/brother' never did work out. It would make his current situation much easier.

Maybe he'll start out with tea. Watson -- John -- did enjoy it and it would be a decent indicator that something was different, as he's dead certain Sherlock was never the one to make the tea.

Yes, yes, that could work!

Maybe.

He groans, letting his face fall into his hands. Right now, he would give anything to not be the person that needs to have this conversation.

 

\----------------

 

Ten minutes crawl by and John Watson has yet to return. William has the sense to check the time, and he should be returning soon enough. It leaves him nervous, an emotion he's not really sure what to do with, and he winds up flicking through books, not really reading much of anything but desperately needing something to do with his hands.

Of course, when he's in the middle of indulging his nervous tic, the man of the hour comes back. He looks up at John, eyes trained on the man as soon as he enters.

John, for his part, doesn't react, not at first. He comes in, takes off his coat, walks over to the kitchen, then stops.

"Sherlock," he begins, not turning around, and William can feel himself tense. He tries to think of Sherlock, about every detail he can, and mimics them, but all the information comes at him at once and while he's left with a perfect image of the man in his mind, his physical form is left sitting there, staring at John's back.

Right, well, that's not going to work, then. Speaking, that's what would be good here. Speaking, and not sounding like a complete idiot.

God, when did this become so hard?

Ah, right, when he was doing it alone.

"Mm?" It's a non-committal sort of sound, more of a general acknowledgment than a question, but he's just glad he got a noise out at all.

John peers over his shoulder at him and William lifts a hand, waving. Right, that was stupid. There goes his 'don't make an idiot out of yourself' plan.

"You put on the tea," he states, tone almost accusing. There's a very clear 'What have you done to it' sort of tone to the whole thing.

"I, uhm...Yes?" Why is he doing this? He knew that the tea would be a clue, very pointedly made it so that John would know something was wrong. Now, though, he's floundering, and he's not really sure what to do.

"Why did you put on the tea?"

He forces a smile. "Funny that you bring that up, John..." And then he stops talking. Like a dolt.

The other man stares at him, clearly waiting for some kind of explanation, and instead getting small gestures as he tries to figure out what he's going to say and gets absolutely nowhere.

Finally he just sighs, falling over onto the sofa and closing his eyes. "The tea is an apology," he starts, staying where he is and keeping his eyes shut. "Because we'll, uhm... We'll need to have a bit of a chat and I'm not sure how well it's going to go, and I thought it would be nice, and.... No, I think I've run out of excuses for the tea. Well, there is the actual reason I made it, but we'll get to that."

He knows he's being watched, and he can hear John's footsteps as he approaches. Once they stop (he's at his chair, maybe a little closer to the middle of the room but he can't be quite sure, his mental map of the flat isn't perfect) he cracks open one lid and watches him.

John is leaning against the arm of the chair he usually occupies, studying him with a look that he would almost call appraising. "What's going on, then?" he starts. "You're obviously not right, and please don't try and get me to deduce the answer."

Pushing himself upright again, he smiles. "Well, I... We..." He bites his tongue before he starts debating the grammar of the situation, rather than coming out with what actually needs to be said. "All right, I'm going to just talk for a minute or so. You're not going to interrupt me, and then, when I'm through, you can say what you'd like. Can we try that?"

John just stares at him for a moment. "So we're going to do what we normally do?" He sounds more amused than worried, which is probably good.

"Yes, with the added bonus of a lack of analysis or complaint."

He crosses his arms over his chest. "Oh, this should be really interesting. Go on, then."

William takes a deep breath and just starts talking. "Right, I'm not Sherlock Holmes. He's not here right now and I'm keeping up appearances while he's gone. My name's William, I've known Sherlock since he was six, which in this case means we've been sharing a body since he was six. We've never formally been introduced, but I know you in passing, and we've technically interacted a couple of times, but usually I'm not needed unless he's up to something and can't pull it off on his own. He'd be the one giving you this explanation, and probably be better about it than me, but he got overstimulated and had to pull back from being in control of the body, and so, here I am. It's a pleasure to meet you."

At one point while he was talking, his eyes had closed, and now he finds himself not wanting to open them again. As the silence ripens between them, though, he can't help it, and ends up staring at John who, in turn, is staring back at him.

"I suppose I couldn't get you to repeat that again, but this time a bit more slowly, could I?"

He coughs. "Your flatmate's gone for a bit and I'm here in his place. He'll be back in a couple of days at most. My name's William, and I'm very, very sorry to be the one giving you this explanation."

John nods slowly. "All right."

He sits, trying his best not to fidget and failing miserably. "So... is that it, then?"

"Mmhm."

"You don't have any questions?"

"No."

"You don't think it's odd?"

"Well, yes, of course I do."

"But you're all right with it?"

"About as all right as I am with finding body parts around the flat."

"Well, considering you've gotten used to those, that's a good sign."

"Mmhm."

John grabs his coat and starts upstairs.

His eyes trail after him. "Where are you going?"

He looks over his shoulder. "To phone your brother and ask him what the hell is going on."

"Ah. So when you say that you're all right with it..."

"I'm reserving judgment until I talk to someone who isn't you."

William just nods weakly, flopping back onto the couch and taking slow, deep breaths. That could have gone worse. That could have gone ten times better, but it also could have gone much, much worse.

He's just going to be relieved that the initial part is over and hope that Mycroft is better at this than he is.

 

\-------------

 

To his credit, William spends the first seventeen minutes sitting on the sofa, fiddling with books again. This is in part because he challenged himself to last at least twelve minutes before he would try and do anything else, and he's really rather pleased that he lasts as long as he does.

But soon enough his self restraint runs out and he's on his feet, pacing the length of the room and trying to decide what ought to be done. A good part of him wants to follow John, put an ear to the door and try and catch what's being said, but he knows that probably isn't wise.

He reminds himself of this while pouring a cup of tea for John, and again while he walks up the stairs.

And yet, there he is, pressing his ear to a crack in the door and listening closely.

"--am I supposed to do?"

William chuckles softly to himself. There's not much to do in a situation like this, he wants to say. He'll be out of the way as soon as Sherlock's better, and they just need to wait it out.

Of course, that's probably not as satisfactory of an answer as John is hoping to get, but it's the truth all the same.

"A few days."

He's really hoping it won't be that long, but he's almost certain that it will. He'd happily be wrong, of course, and Sherlock could come back early out of sheer stubbornness, but he's preparing to be around for a bit.

"What if a case comes up? Could he even help the way he is now?"

He couldn't. They look at the world two entirely different ways, and while that isn't a problem most of the time, there have been cases that needed to be put off before because Sherlock had retreated inside, and William simply isn't very good with solving crime (he prefers Sudoku).

That's besides the fact that he really doesn't care for dead bodies. He's gotten used to them over time, but they usually make him a bit uneasy.

"Great, so I lie, then."

He's debating the merits of staying with Mycroft. That would make things much easier. John could have the flat to himself for the next few days, and he gets on with Mycroft well enough. It wouldn't be too hard.

"No, I suppose it's not."  
He could call him as soon as he's off the phone with John and one of those black cars would be on its way in minutes. It would save everyone  
of trouble and--

"William?"

His thoughts come to a dead halt when he hears his name, and a second later, John is opening the door. He can't help the guilty expression on his face, but he holds out the tea, having brought it for just such an occurrence.

John looks at the tea, then at him. Taking the mug with one hand, he turns around and moves to sit on his bed. Since the door isn't shut in his face, he steps inside, leaning against the door frame as John continues to talk.

"Yeah, he was there."

William waves, then starts peering around the room itself. It was just as he'd expected, ordinary and fairly unremarkable. A part of him wouldn't mind inspecting closer, but he resists.

"No, I think that's everything for now. I'll phone you later if anything comes up."

"Bye, Mycroft," he calls out automatically, then bites his lip and gestures apologetically to John.

"He says bye," John informs him, before giving his own goodbyes and setting the mobile aside.

"So," William prompts, trying for a reserved expression but probably coming off more nervous than anything. "What did he say?"

"That you're mostly harmless," John replies, picking up the tea and examining it closely before taking a sip.

He nods in approval, and William relaxes a little

"Well, that's true. I don't much care for bothering people."

John nods. "And he says that you've been around for a while, and that you... take care of things."

A nod. "In a way. I try and balance him out a bit, and when something comes up that he can't do, I try and help out. I wind up doing a lot of apologizing and talking to people and.... No, that's it. Lots of apologies and talking to people."

"How come I've never met you before, then?"

"Well, technically you have. Sherlock's not much of an actor; I, on the other hand, am pretty good at it. Every time you thought he was putting up a face for someone, it's been me."

John nods slowly. "That doesn't count, though. How come I've not met _you_?"

William shrugs. "Never really saw a need for it. Sherlock's been handing the world well enough, and I've been content to sit back and let him. We anticipated having this conversation eventually, but not without him around."

"So, neither of you saw a need to inform me that you _existed_?"

He shakes his head. "Not... exactly? Things were working out just fine and this conversation rarely goes smoothly."

"I couldn't imagine why."

"Look, I'm sorry," he starts. "Nothing was supposed to work out like this."

John nods, taking another sip of tea. "It's fine. I'm just trying to process this."

"Take your time. Really, if you want me to leave, I can do that. I'll phone Mycroft and just stay over there until things get sorted--"

John holds up a hand and he goes quiet.

"You don't have to leave," he starts. 'If I'm understanding this right, this is as much your flat as it is mine. You've got every right to stay here."

"But if you're uncomfortable--"

"Hold on, let me talk for a second."

William nods.

"I'm still not sure where I stand on this. There's a good part of me that sees something very wrong here, but I'm going to look past that. What you and Sherlock have been doing seems to work, if not a bit oddly, and while I don't think it's fair that I wasn't told, I'm not upset about it."

Again, he nods.

"It seems to me," John continues, "that if this is real, and you two aren't going to change any time soon, I should at least get to know you."

William is starting to grin, despite himself. "So, does that mean you want me to stay, then?"

John offers a slightly awkward smile. "As long as you keep making the tea."

 

\---------------------

 

They go for dinner that night. Nowhere special, just the Chinese place that's close by. William doesn't complain, though, it's a nice night out and he always did enjoy walking.

They sit across from each other, the silence threatening to grow awkward. He smiles, taking a sip from his drink as he watches people at other tables, while John watches him. It's not entirely uncomfortable, he's just not certain what he should be saying.

"So," John starts, and his eyes dart from the family a few tables away straight to him. "How should we do this, then?"

William shrugs. "Honestly, I haven't the foggiest. I was hoping you'd know what to do."

John shakes his head. "I thought you would, since you've done this before."

"I have," he starts. "Sort of."

John looks at him quizzically.

"I did this with Mycroft," he explains. "Got to know him and such, but that was years ago. We were all still kids at the time. Sherlock's never been one to make friends easily, and the people we did tell either thought he was just being even more mental or actively didn't want to hear about it. I made them uncomfortable."

He nods, and William can tell that there's a part of him that understands that line of thinking. He doesn't mind, though, because he knows that John _is_ trying, and that means quite a bit.

"Anyway," he continues, "because of that, I never really wound up doing this that often. Besides, it's hard to go about just introducing yourself and so on. A thousand and one first dates can attest to that."

That makes John laugh, and he grins proudly.

Their food arrives then, and for a few minutes they eat in a slightly more companionable silence than before. It's not perfect, but it's a start and William is not one to snub small victories.

"Do you only come around when Sherlock needs you to do something?" John asks after a while.

He shakes his head, swallowing a bite of mei fun. "I'm usually around, I'm just not in control. We switch off when he needs me, or when you're not around. I wind up spending a lot of time at the flat. It's kind of a thank you."

"So, what, he bribes you with time around the flat?"

William nods. "Pretty much. There's a system in place. I get time out when you're not there, there's no active case running, and he doesn't need to observe experiments. I'm not confined to just the flat, but I like it there. It's comfortable."

John nods again. "Have we ever interacted besides those times when he -- you -- were putting up a front?"

"No, not really. Like I said, I'm usually around and aware of what's going on, but I've never properly met you."

He looks slightly relieved.

"How often does this happen?" he asks, after a few moments. "Him going off and leaving you to deal with things?"

William considers for a moment. "A few times a year. Three, maybe four. Not that often, really. He should probably go in more often than he does, but you try telling him that, I assure you it won't work."

"And it's just because of stimulus overload?"

"Mmmhm. His head's always going, you know that. It runs constantly, and sometimes the sheer volume of information that the world around him provides just gets overwhelming, even with the filters we've got in place."

"Yeah, I suppose that makes sense."

"It used to be worse, when he was a kid. He was trying to absorb everything back then and it got to be pretty bad. We would switch off regularly, and I'd wind up taking care of things until he was right again."

John takes a sip of tea. "Does that mean his parents know about you?"

William nods. "Oh yeah, they know, they worried, they sent us to various places when we were young just to make sure we weren't absolutely mental, but by the time Sherlock was twelve, they saw that it wasn't really hurting anyone. Besides, he was so bright that I think they just decided he was allowed to have a few quirks."

"And you were all right with that? Being a 'quirk'?"

He shrugs. "I know who I am, John. I don't need other people to reassure me of that. If it makes them more comfortable to put me down as one of Sherlock's eccentricities, then that's fine by me."

A slow nod. "But don't you want to be more than that? Don't you want to have friends and a life of your own and... normal things?"

William shrugs. "Normal is relative. This is normal for me. Well, for the most part. The only thing out of the ordinary for me is not having Sherlock about right now, but that's it. This is how things have pretty much always been."

"And you don't ever want it to be different?"

"I wouldn't mind coming out a bit more, I suppose, but I understand why things work they way they do. Plus, it's not as if I'm always stuck inside, I do get out."

"And after this, are you going to be keeping to the same rules as before, with you only coming around when I'm working?"

He shrugs. "I think that's going to be up to you and Sherlock. I wouldn't mind if things changed, but I understand if you lot decide otherwise."

John looks almost uncomfortable a moment, so William smiles and reaches out, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"It's not a big deal," he assures. "Really. Don't think about it right now. You'll work it out when he gets back."

John nods, picking at his food again and apparently considering all the information he'd just been given

William goes back to his food as well, not sure if he would consider this a good conversation or not. It seems to be going well in his mind, but he's never been good at reading people and John could very easily be making plans to move out. Of course, he's fairly certain even he's not that thick, but he could be wrong.

The rest of the night passes with slightly more idle chatter, questions occasionally coming up, and he answers each one to the best of his ability. By the end of the meal, he thinks that things might be all right, that they've gotten passed the initial awkwardness that the situation brings up.

They go back to Baker Street and watch crap telly and William makes tea.

Yes, he thinks that this might just wind up working out.

 

\--------------------------

 

Two days pass by with little incident. William and John get on pretty well, Lestrade never calls them with a case (something he's pretty sure Mycroft had a hand in), and on the whole, things wind up going well.

On the beginning of the third day, William can feel Sherlock stir. He smiles to himself and stretches. He needs to get up, maybe eat something (even if it will annoy Sherlock when he returns) and probably let John know, but he's so comfortable that he finds it hard to will himself out of bed.

There's movement in the sitting room, though, and he sighs, figuring that he shouldn't spend the day in bed. Pushing himself upright, he stumbles out, waves at John and ambles towards the kitchen to make toast.

"Sherlock's around," he calls over his shoulder, and he doesn't have to look to see John perk up.

"Is he?"

William nods. "He'll be back in a bit, it's just a matter of letting the world come back to him. When you shut everything out like that, rushing back into things isn't usually the best way to go about returning."

John nods slowly. "And when he's back, that means you'll be gone, then?" They've had the conversation about how William and Sherlock exist against one another, but it still seems a bit difficult for John to grasp.

"I'll be around," he says. "Just not in control. And now that I know you don't mind me, I'll probably say hello every now and again."

There's a sound of agreement as the toast is finished and he spreads jam across it.

"I suspect Sherlock'll want to have a bit of a chat with you when he's back. I'll tell him how things have gone, of course, but he likes to see things for himself, you know how he is."

John chuckles a little. "When do you think he'll be back?"

He shrugs, taking a bite of his food and shuffling over to the other armchair. "Afternoon, maybe? Probably earlier if he's feeling stubborn."

"Do you want to go out, then? Take a walk around the city before he comes back?"

William considers this, chewing carefully on his toast before finally nodding in agreement. "That'd be great."

~~

That afternoon Sherlock comes back, just as he knew he would, and William happily goes back inside. It's not that he doesn't enjoy his time out, it's more that he's much more comfortable sharing space than he is being alone.

Things do change after that, if only in small ways. He says hello to John every now and then and throws in his commentary on trivial matters (much to Sherlock's annoyance). John asks how he is, which makes him smile to a sad extent, and he isn't always alone in the flat anymore.

They adjust, the three of them and it's nice, it's comfortable, and it's certainly better than either he or Sherlock has ever expected.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me elsewhere:  
> [My DW](http://rootsofthestories.dreamwidth.org) (which I use regularly)  
> [My Tumblr](http://analtarofstars.tumblr.com/) (which I am very rarely on)  
> [My Twitter](http://twitter.com/harvestgraces) (which I am on at random)


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